


Into the Woods

by spikesgirl58



Series: Illya and the Gypsies [2]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the quest to understand the meaning of the phrase, non sequitur, Illya will go to great lengths, even consulting a gypsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods

_“нелогичное заключение.”_   Illya’s tongue hurt from wrapping itself around that phrase.  “Mama, what does it mean?”

“It’s nonsense,” she snapped.  “Larysa, hold still!”  The wiggling baby paid no attention her mother and began to splash.  “Illya, go see your grandfather,” Mama ordered.

Illya knew that was Mama’s way of telling him to get lost without actually coming out and saying it.  Mama was busier and busier as new babies seemed to find their way to their doorstep.  His seven-year old mind tried to wrap itself around how it kept happening, but nothing made sense to him.  Mama said they were a gift from the cabbage patch, but it was winter when Larysa arrived.  And he hadn’t seen any big birds either. 

Picking up his book, which weighed half as much as he did, Illya walked to the study.  Papa was working on the papers.  Maps and documents spilled off the desk and over onto the floor and adjacent furniture.  He would mutter, make notes, study a map or two and then mutter some more.  Surely Papa would know what it meant.  Papa was the smartest man Illya knew.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Illusha?

“What does _нелогичное заключение_ mean? _”_  

“Non sequitur?”  The man studied his young son and shook his head.  “Illya, why don’t you play like your brothers and sisters?”

“I do play, Papa, but I like to read, too.  I don’t know what this means, though.”

“It’s stupid.”  Papa lifted the book out of Illya’s hands and set it upon the table.  “You are too much in a hurry to become a man.  Go be a little boy instead.”

Illya knew better than to argue.  Papa would give him a beating for disrespecting him.  With a sigh, he left the room.  He would come back for his book later.

His grandfather was sleeping too soundly to be woken.  Illya carefully picked up the empty vodka bottle and set it up alongside its mate on the nightstand.

He let himself out a side door and stood blinking in the sun.  Spring was in full bloom around him, but Illya wasn’t interested in the flowers or the birds.  He wanted to know what non sequitur meant.

Then he grinned widely, displaying the gap from his missing front tooth.  It had fallen out and a new one was growing in.  He could only guess that he’d been using practice teeth all this time and was being rewarded by getting new ones now.

He’d go ask Luyba, his gypsy friend.  She knew everything!

Illya ran into the woods, following a familiar path.  His parents knew of Illya’s fascination with the gypsies ever since Luyba had returned him home after he’d run away, upset by the death of his grandmother.  In Luyba, Illya guessed he saw a little bit of his babushka.  She was patient with him and listened, really listened to his questions.  Mama and Papa were just too busy most of the time.

He came to the camp and slowed, blue eyes flicking nervously from wagon to wagon.  He was careful to be very respectful of their ways.  In turn, they permitted him into their camp and their lives.

Luca was cleaning a horse’s hoof and happened to glance his way.

“Greetings, young Kuryakin.”

 _“Latcho dives,_ Luca.”  Illya carefully pronounced the words and the man grinned.

“We’ll make a gypsy of you yet!”  He reached out to ruffle Illya’s already tousled blond hair.  “You are looking for Granny?”

“Yes, please.”

“The red wagon.  She is sitting with a sick child.”

“Thank you.”

Luyba looked up as he approached as if she’d heard and recognized his footsteps.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked as he approached.

Her hands were busy cleaning greens, but it was obvious that her mind had been elsewhere.  “I am glad for the distraction.”

“Illyusha, how are you today?”  She patted the bench beside her.  

“I am well, thank you.  How are you?”

“Tired.  The little one inside had a restless night, but I am cooking up a special soup for her.  It should help her to sleep.”

“I should bring some home for Larysa.”  Illya peered into the bowl, his nose crinkling up from the smell.  “She never sleeps.  Mama said she would happily kill for four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

Luyba laughed.  “What brings you to me, Illyusha?”

“What does non sequitur mean?”

“Such an old question from such a young mind.  You never stop thinking, do you, Illya?”

Blue eyes regarded her seriously.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never tried.”  He let his legs swing under the bench.  “I asked Mama and I asked Papa.  Grandfather was sleeping with Comrade Vodka.”

Luyba laughed.  “What did you say about your grandfather?”

“That he was sleeping with Comrade Vodka.  That’s what Papa says.”  Illya sighed and shook his head slowly.  “But the vodka bottle usually ends up on the floor.  I don’t understand.”

“And no one could tell you what non sequitur meant?”

“No, but I knew you would know.  You know everything, Luyba.”

“You flatter me, little one.”  She stared into her bowl for a moment.  “Illya, do you know who Baba Yaga is?”

“A fairy tale to keep little boys and girls from the woods.”

“You really are forty inside, aren’t you?”

“No, just seven… I think.”

“Let me tell you a story about Baba Yaga and perhaps you will understand that way.  One day Baba Yaga was flying around the forest in her mortar and steering with her pestle, as she usually does.  She was searching for those naughty children who wander about in the woods and don’t respect the plants and the animals there.”

“I respect them,” Illya interrupted quietly.

“Yes, you do.  You were properly brought up.  But Baba Yaga’s eyes fell upon a young boy who didn’t.  He was ripping plants from the ground, plants Baba Yaga needed for her potions, and carving his initials on Baba Yaga’s trees.”

“I bet she got mad.”  Illya remembered when he carved his initials in the side of the house.  He didn’t sit comfortably for two days.  “Papa sure did.”

“She did, Illyusha, very mad.  She swooped down and plucked him up by his shirt and carried him back to her house.  It stopped spinning and screaming as she approached for Baba Yaga muttered the magic phrase.  What she didn’t know is that the boy was listening and remembering.”

“Don’t those old chicken feet get tired of spinning around?” Illya wondered out loud and Luyba smiled.

“No, they are magic chicken feet.  Baba Yaga takes the boy inside and makes him do all her chores, each time telling him that he’d better do a good job or she will cook him up and eat him.  Baba Yaga calls to her sister to see what she’s found.”

“The other Baba Yaga?”

“Exactly.  It would be easier if they both didn’t have the same name, wouldn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“For several weeks, the boy slaved for Baba Yaga.  All that time he kept learning and remembering all Baba Yaga’s spells.  Then one day, he had the chance to escape.  Baba Yaga had fallen asleep, but she told him that when she woke, she was going to cook him up into a stew and eat him.   What do you suppose he did?”

“Why, run away and go back home.  He would be very powerful if he knew all of Baba Yaga’s spells and he could tell the Elders and they could protect the village and its people from her.”

“That would be the logical thing, but he didn’t.  He stayed.”

“But Baba Yaga was going to eat him.  That doesn’t make sense.”

“That, my young friend is what non sequitur means.  It means to act contrary to facts that were previously established.  Do you understand?”

“I think so.  It would be like taking a flaming stick from the fire with your hand even though you know it will burn you.”

“Exactly.”

Illya shook his head slowly.  “The more I know about people, the less I understand them.”  He slipped off the bench.  “I should go home.  I need to help Papa with the chores.”

Luyba reached into the copious folds of her skirt and brought out a small sack.  “Here, Illyusha.  Have your mama brew that into a tea and drink it just before she gives your little sister her bedtime feeding.   I think she will find that they will both sleep better that night.”

Illya grinned and nodded.  “Thank you, Luyba!”  And he raced off.

_Twenty five years later_

Napoleon peeked under his handkerchief and winced. 

“If you keep looking, it’s not going to stop bleeding.”  Illya was crouched beside him, splitting his attention between that of his partners and of the enemy agents looking for them.  “We need to move, Napoleon.”

“Back inside.” 

“What?  Napoleon, we just escaped.”

“I know.  I am painfully aware of the event.”

“There are people in there trying to kill us.”

“No, there are people out here trying to kill us.  The last thing they are going to expect us to do is to go back inside.”

A memory flashed through Illya’s mind of an old woman and a young boy a long time ago, sitting and talking about the mysteries of life.  What a contrast to his now.  “Non sequitur.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”  Napoleon got to his feet and glanced around before returning his gaze to his partner.  “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”  Illya stood as well.

“Are you with me?”

“Always.”

Together they entered the lion’s den, the devil at their heels and mutual smiles on their lips.

 

 

  
  



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